


Where We Died This Time Last Year

by kopperblaze



Series: Fortunes [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt Percival, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, angry percival, h/c, mentions of torture, newt is fierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9505370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: The anniversary of his rescue is coming up and Percival Graves has a hard time coping.Part of the Fortunes series, but can be read on its own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I saw "Manchester by the Sea" today and needed an outlet for my feelings, so this happened /o\
> 
> Comments and Kudos are, as always, hugely appreciated <3
> 
> Not beta'ed, please excuse any mistakes.

* * *

 

It wasn’t an anniversary Percival wanted to remember, and yet it was constantly on his mind, making him irritable and jumpy. A year. A year since he’d been rescued from the hell Grindelwald had created for him. A year in which he’d gone through the painful process of regaining his strength and the even more painful process of mending his mind. A year in which he’d relived his torture almost every night in his dreams, in which he’d struggled to cope with panic attacks and take back his life.

He’d come far, Percival knew that, but the impending anniversary brought back all the negative feelings, like it had opened a crack in his facade that allowed them to rush back in and drown him.

“Percy? Are you asleep?” Newt whispered. The light streaming in from the hallway silhouetted Newt’s shadow on the wall and Percival stared at it but kept his back turned to Newt, not giving a response. It was barely past ten and he’d begged off helping Newt with the evening rounds, feigning a headache.

Newt hovered in the doorway for a few moments before he closed the door again, the bedroom falling into darkness once more. Guilt churned in Percival’s stomach, one more thing to feed his self-loathing with. He was being horrible to Newt, had been all week, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt caught in a new kind of prison, one that isolated him in his mind and turned him into a despicable monster, lashing out at everyone.

Hours later the bedroom door opened again and soft footsteps padded over to the bed. The mattress dipped as Newt sat down. He didn’t move for a while and Percival struggled not to shift under the weight of Newt’s gaze, knowing he was being watched. He closed his eyes, tried to even out his breathing.

Eventually Newt sighed and got under the blankets, lying down and curling himself around Percival. He rested his forehead between Percival’s shoulderblades.

“I wish you’d talk to me,” Newt whispered so quietly Percival had to strain to hear him.

They lay like that for a while, Percival wondering if Newt knew he was awake too. In the end Newt’s breathing became deeper, heavier as he fall asleep, twitching occasionally. Percival kept staring at the wall, his thoughts circling, until the shadows in the room disappeared in the morning light.

~

“I’m taking you out for lunch,” Theseus declared. Percival didn’t look up from the case file he was reading, thus missing the determined set of Theseus’ jaw.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad, I am and I want company.”

“Take Goldstein,” Percival mumbled absentmindedly. The case file was suddenly snatched from his desk and Percival glared up, only to be met by Theseus’ glare in return.

“Percy. C’mon.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” Percival grit out, already feeling anger beginning to simmer under the surface of his skin.

Theseus exhaled slowly, clearly trying to hold onto his own composure. “Indulge me?”

“Theseus, I’m very busy.” Percival tried to snatch the casefile back, only for Theseus to take a few steps back.

“You need to eat eventually.”

“I’ve had breakfast.”

“No you haven’t. Newt told me.”

“It’s none of your business and neither is it Newt’s!” Percival’s voice rang in the silence of the room. Theseus narrowed his eyes and threw the file back down on Percival’s desk.

“You’re behaving like an arsehole, Percival. Get a grip.”

“Get the fuck out,” Percival hissed. Something closed off in Theseus’ expression and he took a step back.

“You know, you might want to stop pissing on the people trying to help you.” He turned on his heels and stalked from the room, closing the door behind him forcefully. A second later Percival’s paperweight hit it and broke with a satisfying sound, shards cluttering to the floor.

~

The witches and wizards in his department started to look at him with something bordering on fear. Only Tina would still meet his gaze, jutting her chin out like a challenge. Seraphina looked at him in concern and Theseus with anger. Pickett glared at him and the mooncalves fled from his presence. Worst of all though was Newt, watching Percival with a mixture of confusion, hurt and worry. He flinched every time Percival was short with him and Percival hated himself for it. He hated himself for being like this, thinking that everything he had he didn’t deserve.

On the day of the anniversary Percival found that he couldn’t go home, couldn’t subject Newt to his mood, the aggression he felt crawling under his skin like a restless beast. Newt didn’t deserve any of this. He deserved better than Percival, who was broken and bitter and tormented.

So instead of returning home Percival went to a no-maj bar, hidden away in a backstreet. Nobody here knew him, nobody here judged him for sitting alone at the bar, nursing drink after drink and staring at the wall as he battled his demons.

~  
_  
“You received an owl from your sister today, Director.” Grindelwald smiled as he conjured up a chair and sat down, lounging casually. The plush fabric, his casual pose, were a strong juxtaposition to the stone walls surrounding them, the bleakness of Percival’s prison cell._

_“She’s a pretty one,” Grindelwald continued with a smirk that made Percival feel sick to his stomach. At least he wasn’t wearing Percival’s face anymore, which was a small mercy. “I think I’ll visit her one of these days.” Grindelwald inspected his nails nonchalantly. “I wonder what she’ll do if her dear brother bends her over a desk and fucks her. Do you think she’ll scream for me, Percival?”_

_He knew Grindelwald was trying to get a rise out of him, that he shouldn’t react, but the mere thought of that monster putting his hands on Elaine had Percival roaring with anger, struggling against the bindings suppressing his magic._

_Grindelwald chuckled, watching Percival like he was an attraction at the circus. “I bet she’ll look even prettier when she cries.”_

_“Don’t you dare!” Percival’s threats were futile and it only made him angrier, being confronted with his own helplessness once more, knowing that this man was wearing his face like a gaudy costume, committing deeds that were the polar opposite of Percival’s moral code. What was even worse was the knowledge that people out there thought it was him doing these things._

_“I hardly think you’re in a position to give me orders, my dear Percival,” Grindelwald’s smirk grew as he leaned forward in his chair, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy. “Now, how about we try to remember how to get into the Unit of Mysteries again, hm?”_

_Percival glared and attempted to let go off his anger in order to refocus what little energy he had left on keeping up his mental shields._

_“No?” Grindelwald asked. He leaned back in his chair with a disappointed sigh. “Oh Percival, I so hate doing this,” he sighed, raising his wand._

_“Crucio!”_

_Percival pressed his lips together, but it was a futile fight. The pressure built in his throat and soon he was screaming as his world exploded in pain until it felt like it was the only thing he knew anymore._

_When the spell ended Percival’s throat was raw from screaming and his mouth filled with the taste of copper. His limbs twitched in the aftermath of the curse, jostling his hand and sending new waves of agony through his body. His fingers and wrist had been broken to prevent him from doing wandless magic, should the bindings fail. It looked unsightly, a caricature hand mottled in shades of purple and blue, fingers sticking out at awkward angles._

_“Are you sure you don’t remember?” Grindelwald asked sweetly._

_“Fuck...you,” Percival ground out, body still twitching._

_“Tz, such language,” Grindelwald huffed. A second later a red hot pain exploded across Percival’s back as the skin split open. His back arched under the pain and hot blood gushed from the wound. Percival didn’t have a chance to catch his breath before another gash opened._

_He failed to keep count, but as his mind grew hazy and the darkness started to close in, Percival welcomed it, thinking that maybe this time he’d get lucky and drown in it, never to wake up again._

~

Percival picked a fight at the bar, just because he could. The no-majs were not afraid of punching him, unaware of who he is. He held no status in their world and they didn’t let him get away with his attitude, didn’t allow him any leeway as he overstepped boundaries. Their fists brought flashes of pain and Percival welcomed them. The pain was something real at last.

He gave as good as he got, but in the end three against one had a predictable outcome. Percival was vaguely aware of being dragged outside after a final kick in the stomach, his mind hazy with alcohol and pain.

“Don’t show your face again here!”

The noise of the bar subsided and Percival was left alone in silence on the stony ground. At least this was familiar, almost like being back in his cell. Percival laughed at the irony, though the sound leaving his throat sounded more like a sob.

It was Theseus who found him, though Percival couldn’t tell if he’d been laying there for minutes or hours, staring up at the dark sky.

“Oh for fucks sake. You utter _prick_.” Theseus’ angry face swam into focus in front of Percival. Before he had a chance to reply Percival’s arm was grabbed and the telltale tug of apparation beneath his navel made his stomach lurch.

They landed in the livingroom of Newt’s and Percival’s house and Percival immediately went to his knees, struggling against the bile rising in his stomach. He was vaguely aware of a white shape exploding from Theseus’ wand and galloping from the room before the man rounded in on him.

“Seriously. You fucker.” Theseus roughly tilted Percival’s face up and turned it to the left and to the right, inspecting it before tapping his wand against his cheek and nose, murmuring under his breath. Percival felt his skin knit itself back together, the tacky stickiness of blood disappearing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Theseus asked, pulling Percival up and pushing him towards the couch. Percival sat down with a groan and closed his eyes, but snapped them back open when the world around him turned unpleasantly.

“Nothing? Yeah, that’s why I thought,” Theseus continued, his voice short and clipped as he unbuttoned Percival’s shirt and inspected the bruises on his chest.

“Do you have any idea-”

“You found him?” Newt ran into the room and skidded to a halt, breathless and looking between Theseus and Percival.

“Yeah. Got into a fight in a muggle bar, the arsehole.”

“Theseus-”

“No, Newt, don’t! Stop making excuses for him!” Theseus whirled around. “He’s-”

“You weren’t much different.” Unlike his brother, Newt didn’t raise his voice. His low whisper was enough to stun Theseus into momentary silence.

“When you came back from the war. You weren’t much different,” Newt repeated. Percival watched with the detached feeling of a spectator as Newt approached Theseus, who stood frozen on the spot. The brothers whispered, too low for Percival to make out over the ringing in his ears. Theseus’ eyes darted over to him every few seconds, and maybe it was a figment of Percival’s imagination, but slowly the anger on his face melted away to something different, something more complicated.

“You let me know if you need anything,” Theseus eventually murmured, pulling Newt into a tight hug. He didn’t say goodbye to Percival before disapparating.

Silence hung heavily over the room for a few seconds, Newt and Percival regarding each other. With a sigh Newt shrugged out of his coat and draped it over an armchair before approaching and kneeling down in front of Percival.

He didn’t look him in the eyes, studying the bruising skin on Percival’s chest instead.

“He didn’t mean it, you know?” Newt eventually said into the silence. “Theseus, I mean. He gets angry when he doesn’t know how to cope.”

Percival made a soft sound in the back of his throat, not knowing how to respond. Newt summoned a healing salve from the bathroom and carefully spread the thick ointment over Percival’s skin. His touch was so gentle that Percival’s breath stuttered in his chest, heat crawling up his throat. He wanted to say something, but his mind remained blank, words and phrases escaping his grasping hands like tendrils of smoke.

Once Newt finished he carefully closed the jar of ointment again and put it on the coffeetable. “I’ll make us a cup of tea,” he mumbled and rose to his feet, walking to the kitchen without once raising his eyes. Percival thought he was going to choke on his guilt and self-hatred.

He took a few deep breaths, struggling to clear his mind, and pushed to his feet, unsteadily following Newt. When he reached the kitchen Percival had to lean against the doorframe to steady himself, feeling like his heart was twisting and tearing itself apart at the sight of Newt, hands braced on the kitchen counter, drawing in shaky breaths.

“Newt.” Percival’s voice came out scratchy and foreign-sounding to his own ears. Newt startled and turned around, eyes wet and wide, his chin trembling ever so slightly.

“We’re all worried about you, you know?” He said, his voice coming out strong despite the tears that were threatening to fall. “ _I_ terrified.” There was a little hitch to Newt’s voice now. “Tina says you’re being reckless on missions. It’s like you want something to happen to you and it...it scares me. Very much. I’m scared of losing you.”

It clearly took all of Newt’s courage to hold Percival’s gaze, his expression so open and honest and vulnerable that Percival didn’t think he could bear it a second longer.

“I’m sorry,” Percival whispered, which wasn’t enough by far. It removed the invisible barrier between them though and Newt hugged him, holding him tight like he was scared Percival was going to disappear again.

“I’m sorry,” Percival repeated, his own arms coming up to wrap around Newt. His mind was still spinning from the alcohol and it loosened his tongue.

“I’m scared of losing myself,” Percival admitted, focusing on Newt’s hold on him, allowing it to ground him. “I don’t...I can’t stop it. I can’t stop thinking about it. He won’t go away, he’ll _never go away_.” He hated himself for sounding desperate, for the hot feeling behind his eyelids, but now that he had started speaking Percival found himself unable to stop. “I’m so angry all the time. Angry that nobody noticed and angry at myself that I let him do this to me. I should’ve been able to stop him. I should’ve tried harder.” Percival drew in a ragged breath of air. “After a few weeks I wanted to die. I wanted to die more than anything. Like a fucking coward.” His laugh comes out hollow and twisted. “And sometimes I still think it would’ve been better if I hadn’t come back from that hellhole.”

“Don’t say that,” Newt hissed, his fists twisting in the back of Percival’s shirt. He pulled his head back a little to look up, his gaze fierce like Percival had never seen before. “Don’t ever say that. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re dealing with this admirably. It’s...it’s alright to have bad days. It’s normal to have bad days. Or bad weeks, really. Just...please don’t keep me out? Let me help you. Please.”

Percival nodded, his stomach lurching again. He felt horrible, sore in a million different ways and sick to his core. “I’ll try not to. I don’t want to I just…” He shook his head, at a loss for words again. “I’m sorry.” The world around him tilting. “I’m not feeling so good.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” Newt mumbled, gently wiping Percival’s cheeks with his thumbs. He hadn’t realised he’d been crying.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he stumbled after Newt, allowing the man to lead him upstairs.

“It’s alright. We can talk in the morning when you feel better.”

Percival practically fell into bed, the drink in his system allowing him to slip into unconsciousness before Newt had even pulled the blankets up over him.

~

Percival awoke in the morning with a drilling pain in his head. His mouth tasted foul and he felt nauseous. Blinking against the dim light he thanked Merlin that the blinds were still closed. He struggled to sit up, taking a few seconds to let his stomach settle before he opened his eyes.

The bottle of hangover cure on the bedside table nearly made Percival weep with relief and he downed it greedily, instantly feeling better. Taking a deep breath he took stock and tried not to cringe as snatches from last night kept coming back.

The bedroom was empty, but Percival could hear the wireless going downstairs. Well, he’d have to face the music eventually, so there was no point in delaying it. Percival got to his feet and put on his dressing gown. He took the stairs slowly, blaming the fact that he still felt a little unsteady, rather than his nerves.

Newt was sitting on the couch in the living room, cradling a cup of tea and looking out the window. Percival stopped in the doorway and watched him for a while, his heart constricting with the love he felt for this man. Anybody else would’ve given up on Percival already, fed up with his nightmares, his stubbornness, his attitude. But Newt, inexplicably, was still around.

“Good morning,” Percival mumbled eventually.

Newt turned and the dark shadows under his eyes made Percival wince. “Good morning.”

Percival hesitantly walked over to the couch and Newt shifted to the side to make room for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said once he’d sat down, briefly thinking that he hadn’t said sorry as much in a year as he had in the past 24 hours.

“You don’t have to be,” Newt replied, carefully setting his teacup down on the coffee table before turning to face Percival. “Please don’t do it again?”

“I won’t. I promise,” Percival replied. Not because he was sure that he wouldn’t go to such a dark place again - in fact he was certain that he would - but because he never, ever wanted to see Newt like he’d seen him last night and know he was the reason for it.

Feeling oddly shy Percival leaned in for a soft kiss, like he needed to ask permission. Newt leaned willingly into him though and Percival brought a hand up to cup his cheek. “I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against Newt’s. It pulled a small smile from Newt, who gently pushed his hands against Percival’s chest until he laid down. Newt arranged himself atop of him, his nose bumping against Percival’s cheek. He reached for Percival’s hand and linked their fingers together.

“I love you too,” he pressed a kiss to Percival’s cheek. “Silly man.”

Percival huffed a laugh.

“You don’t have to deal with this by yourself. We’ll get through it together.”

Percival brought their linked hands up to his face and kissed Newt’s fingers, holding tightly onto that tiny spark of hope blossoming in his chest.


End file.
